


wreckage

by oracular_vernacular



Series: luminous beings: gffa vignettes [2]
Category: Star Wars, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Feelings About the Star Wars: Clone Wars Finale, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Post-Star Wars: The Clone Wars, Smut, Wholesome and Sad, Xeno, she's of age at this point imo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:07:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24759817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oracular_vernacular/pseuds/oracular_vernacular
Summary: Somehow, the bittersweet fruit of such total collapse was this moment where she was in his arms.
Relationships: CT-7567 | Rex/Ahsoka Tano
Series: luminous beings: gffa vignettes [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1945174
Comments: 6
Kudos: 134





	wreckage

_Fire._

It was everywhere. The smoke, shot through with the acrid burnoff of whatever was left of the hyperdrive, stung his eyes. Running, following her-- a dart of blue and orange, two blades swinging. For a moment it was like any other mission, any of dozens of assaults she’d led before. And then, he turned and shot one of his own brothers. 

_Fire._

In the pit of his stomach there was nothing. That particular emptiness meant he would be retching later, he knew. But at that moment he was only made of motion, instinct and reaction and determination... and her, as much a part of him as his battered armor. His helmet even painted in a rough approximation of the markings on her face.

The hull of the Venator was torn-- that horned bastard ripped the _entire goddamn hyperdrive_ out of the ship, Maker alive-- the air above whatever hunk of rock they’d careened towards was now billowing in, mixing with the recycled air from the ship. Fuel for a hungry ghost that gripped him and his commander in its teeth, wrapped them in its smoldering embrace. A cage to carry them to their deaths, it seemed. They were surrounded on all sides by troopers. Held them off as long as they could, but there was nothing for it. They had to flee.

_Fire._

The bodies on the ground had burned just as easily as the rest of the ship. All of them his kith, collateral damage in a great and terrible war, and an endgame that had come down like a hammer into the mind of every brother he had-- most of them. He wondered about Fives while he dragged corpses to the row of ditches. Wished with all his might that they had done something, _anything,_ about what he’d discovered. Not that it mattered now. This was all beyond their ken, a seed planted before the clones were even born. 

Once the ashes were buried beneath raw earth, they planted pikes and hung every helmet they could find all along the row of graves. The length of it hurt him to see, and he dared not count. All of them were gone, and it was by her grace alone that they had not taken him with them. 

He almost wished they had. But at least his commander had survived. 

It had been two day’s labor, the burials. But there was no question of whether or not it should be done; his grief-stricken muscles worked to make some meaning out of the sudden and terrible violence that had taken these lives. Then, scavenging the parts to repair the Y-wing and astromech droid to pilot it for two days. Beneath the shelter of a massive hunk of the ship’s hull, a curved metal cave where they tucked themselves away from the possibility of watchful eyes, the two survivors had made camp.

_Fire._

On the other side of the warm light, her face was heavy with grief. Night was falling, and the planet below was slipping into darkness, too. They’d crashed into a moon, he knew not where. Once R-7 was working they would know which system, but he didn’t care. At night he felt sick in his guts, unable to believe the truth even as he’d laid it one body at a time in the ground. Unable to strategize the best way to cheer her up on the other side of that fire. He watched her and worried. She wasn’t even fidgeting anymore, and the salvaged ration beside her lay untouched. 

“You’ll need your strength, sir,” he said, voice rough and quiet beneath the crackling of the flames. 

“I know.” She wasn’t looking at him. She was staring at the ground, shoulders sagging beneath the weight of the Republic’s gruesome end. Maker, he thought, what about Skywalker? Kenobi? Where were his generals? Had any of them survived? 

“At least drink a little water.” If she sank under this, how could he not drown, too?

“Alright, Rex,” she sighed, reaching over to her canteen and lifting it to her lips. Her swallow was cursory, meant only to reassure him. He sighed. 

“Thank you, sir.”

“You don’t have to call me that,” she said, meeting his eyes finally. Hers were so blue, but the light in them was gone. “I’m not in charge of anything anymore.” 

“You’ll always outrank me, sir, soldier or not.” His smile was stillborn; she looked like she wanted to smile back but had forgotten how. There was the truth again, plain in her eyes. She’d always been unflinching, unwilling to hide things and bad at it when she tried. He looked at the packed earth beneath his boots. “I’m not ready to let go.” 

“I know.”

“I’ve only ever been a soldier. I used to wonder what it’d be like if I lived to see this war end. How I’d be anything else when that was what I was bred for.” He looked up at her again, and she was listening, watching him with an attentive face. An expression she’d taken years to develop, it seemed, because when she’d been General Skywalker’s padiwan she’d had an intense aversion to paying attention. Always driving forward.

“I remember,” she replied softly. He’d spoken plainly enough about it before.

“This is much worse than that,” he continued, swallowing something that wanted to turn into tears, feeling it slide sharp down his throat. “So much worse.”

She was silent, but she did not look away. He felt his heart thudding with the effort not to break. Never had he been so naked before her, or any commanding officer-- hell, before _anyone._ She surely didn’t need to use the Force, whatever that meant, to watch his feelings push at the flagging veneer of his stoicism. 

“It’s alright to be afraid,” she said. He almost recoiled, the sting of that word landing home. But she meant it kindly, he knew. He just hated how obvious it must be. Fear was a thing he hid even from himself. Where did the captain of the 501st have time or place to keep fear? But it was always there. He wasn’t a droid, after all. 

“Yeah.” His eyes fell to the ground again. For a moment he’d thought he wanted her to see him, thought he might take comfort in such vulnerability. At least with her. But the truth still soured in his mouth. He started to work his boots off his feet. “I’m goin’ to bed. You need to rest, too.” 

“I’ll try, Rex, I really will.” His glance up at her saw eyes so full of sorrow that it burned him somewhere deep in his heart. She was so evidently grown up, so familiar with the burden of pain. Every part of him wanted to fix it. Wanted to make her feel better, to do whatever she asked. Just as viscerally, he knew there was no fixing anything, and he hated it. 

He managed to wipe the tears forming in his eyes away without looking up at her, and took to his bedroll as quickly as he could. 

_Fire._

It raced through his dream, fresh panic on its heels. _Good soldiers follow orders. Execute the order. Hunt down and kill the Jedi._ And then her face, which he knew so well, staring at him in horror as his shaking hands leveled two blasters at her head. The ship was burning. He was burning with it. _No! Not my Commander! I can’t--_

**_FIRE!_ **

He fought it like hell, fought the sharp shattering of his heart as he knew he had to kill her-- _her--_ why? Why her? Please, he thought, please burn me away. He’d told her as best he could, stammered out-- _Find him! Find him! Fives!--_ but his finger was trying to squeeze the trigger, and he was burning from within as it ripped him apart--

He awoke with a scream, or he thought he did. In his dream he had screamed, hearing the sound of blaster fire. But as his eyes opened to the faint glow of the dwindling campfire on the metal wall he faced, his throat closed tight. His voice seemed trapped inside it somewhere, straining. He’d wanted to scream. Tried to, tried to beg for death before this anathema of a direct order broke him.

Slowly, silently as he could, he turned just enough to glance behind him at her bedroll. Over the haze of embers, he saw her body lying there facing away from him beneath the brown blanket, still but for the faintest shift of her breath. He shut his eyes, felt his heartbeat start to slow as he remembered that he hadn’t killed his commander after all. Instead, she’d saved him from that hell by removing the chip from his brain, and he’d slaughtered his brothers as they tried to complete the order in his stead. Turning his head back towards the steel wall, he let the lurking tears finally fall. His own division, helmets painted orange and white. For her. She’d come back to him. He’d wondered if she would stay, even if she never set foot in the Jedi temple again. Stay and command; that rank wasn’t home for him anyway. Such a thought, a whisper of a wish, had been so fleeting and so frightening that he’d let it go as soon as it came. Now, in the dark of some backwater moon in the wreckage of the capital ship of the Republic fleet, the memory of such a stowaway hope was cruel. He was silent as tiny rivulets made their way across his face, dripping into the padded pillow of the bedroll. 

He froze when he heard footsteps behind him, but they were light and familiar. Before he could speak, he felt his blanket lift and a lithe body slide beneath it to press against his back. 

“Uh, sir?” he asked, voice hoarse. What was she doing? Or was he dreaming, even going mad thinking someone was there? In response, she only curled herself closer to him. Her hands were pressed against his back, her forehead tucked against it too. Like she was hiding. “Are you alright?” 

Her head shook ‘no’ against him. Suddenly, he was wide awake. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I’m afraid, too,” she said finally, voice small for the first time he could remember. It struck him like a fist. She had never seemed frightened of anything.

“Ahsoka,” he breathed, turning around to face her, wrapping his arms around her. She was a grown woman now, he knew, but against him she was still so slight. He felt his heart roar with need; to protect her. He knew she did not need protecting. Hell, she was better suited to protect _him._ But all he wanted was to keep her safe. For one moment, brief and burning, he feared he would fail, that something would compel him to complete Order 66 even though the chip was gone. Then, he felt tears wet his shirt. 

“Anakin. He fell,” she sobbed into his chest. “I felt it. I failed him, Rex.”

“No, you didn’t,” he said, voice as soft as he knew how to make it. “You couldn’t have protected him even if you’d stayed on Coruscant.”

“I should never have left the Order. I could have helped him.” She was still speaking into him, voice muffled as she buried her face. “I was so selfish!” 

“It’s alright, love, it’s alright. There’s nothing you could’ve done.” He stroked her back gently, only peripherally aware of the slip of his tongue. Did it matter? He tucked his head against the curve of her horns, which were strangely firm and soft at the same time. 

“I would’ve tried to save him,” she said, finally pulling away from him enough to be heard a little more clearly, enough for him to watch her eyelashes bat. He got the sudden and distinct feeling that she wasn’t talking about death, but Maker knew he couldn’t have said what else she meant. “I’m sorry Rex. Sorry for leaving. I let you all down.” 

“Ahsoka,” he said again, pulling away from her enough to wrap one big hand under her chin and tug it up towards his face. “You had every right to go. None of us held you a grudge. We did miss you, though.” Watery blue eyes met his, blinking. His thumb ran along the supple skin on her chin. " _I_ missed you.” 

“I missed you, too.” She could have been talking about all of the men, the whole division, the units closest to her throughout the campaign. He was loyal, devoted to all his commanding officers. A good soldier. She was a good commander, devoted to her troops. Of course that was exactly what she meant. Those eyes were too full to mean just him, he was sure.

“I’m sorry I tried to kill you,” he murmured, shame coming over him suddenly.

“You didn’t want to, I know that,” she replied, one of her hands splaying out over his chest, pressing into him as though to reassure him. He wondered if she could feel his heart beating faster.

“I still feel responsible. Turning on you like that, it… it was horrible.” His hand left her chin to lay against her cheek, the burn from his dream, his memory, touching him again.

“You fought it, Rex. Thank you. I know it had to be hard,” she said. 

“I couldn’t… Not you. Not anyone, but especially not you.” The way he was collapsing under the weight of it all was tearing at the bonds that held back his affection. He loved his commanding officers in the way a trooper does. Just, the feeling that had shaken him when she came back was not what he’d expected. The little girl he’d watched mouth off at her Jedi master, make blunders during battle, create miracles in moments of dire need… he’d been there to watch her grow, but she’d learned something else entirely between leaving the Order and returning to the fleet. Seeing it had awoken something in him.

And the way she was staring up at him, the way he was swimming in her eyes, he was just gonna let it all come blathering out of him like an idiot. The good soldier in him had locked that feeling up right away, but now he was raw. Flayed. No longer a soldier; she was long since no Jedi.

“Rex,” she murmured on an exhale, eyes falling heavy, moving her hand over his chest. The black fabric of his uniform bodyglove was thin, and he felt her tiny fingers against his weary muscles radiate electricity. He was no stranger to touch; battle was not a clone’s only need. But no touch quite like this had ever happened upon him, and he’d never dared to hope it would. 

“Ahsoka.” It was her name, a question, a plea; a strange new longing wrapped in a very old fear. But her head was leaning up, her plush lips falling apart just a little--

When he kissed her, it was gentle, reverent. How could it be anything else? Their lips plucked at each other at first, but some need drove their mouths open wider and pushed their tongues together to run in slow charged strokes. She tasted wildly unfamiliar, impossible to describe. He’d bedded non-humans before, but never a Togruta. Maybe it wouldn’t matter, though. Maybe she would have tasted like this even if he’d had words for it.

He was turning them carefully so he could lie on his back, tug her slender form up close and wrap one arm around her. To his great surprise, she pulled herself even farther till she was lying on his chest. He slid a hand between her cheek and one of the tails that grew from her head, and she gave a tiny gasp into his mouth as though the skin there was extra sensitive. The sound sent a shock through him. If he had been resigned to the idea of kissing her and that being the end of it before, he wasn’t anymore. 

At first he was hesitant, terrified of stepping out of bounds. Out of his place, which had been so clear before. But his hands slid tender and easy over her skin, seeking out touches that made her body tremble. Just the thought of pleasing her, of making her forget for a little while the hell they’d both found themselves in, sent heat straight to his groin. 

_Fire._

Now she was touching him, running hands over his arms and his shoulders and his chest like the sensation wasn’t enough. 

“Can you take this off?” she whispered against his lips, tugging the fabric of his shirt.

“Yes, sir,” he murmured back, hands hasty to find the hem. To obey. She moved enough to let him slide it up and over his head.

“Rex, I’m not--”

“Commander anymore, I know. Old habits.” He half-grinned at her, and she returned it. Orange hands trembled against his tan skin, and she sat up to look at him for a moment. He was still, like he was waiting for an evaluation as she looked the muscles of his torso over. He didn’t expect her to reach for the clasp of her blue vest, to tug it open, pull it off her shoulders.

The white markings continued beyond her face, it turned out. They curved under her breasts, along her ribcage. His hands moved of their own accord to press fingertips into the lowest ones and trace them with admiration. Dusky orange nipples, another white mark like an arrow on her chest. By the grace of another nearby moon’s pale light and the embers, he could see her. She looked away for a moment, almost bashful. But he took her face in his hands and towed her back down to kiss her with new urgency. Her chest pressed against his, the sensation making him heady with arousal, and he stroked the sensitive skin of her tails and neck and felt her grind against him in response. A hand lingered at the top of her leggings, hesitant but hungry. He slid fingertips under the waistband against soft skin, and felt himself start to really swell. The black bodyglove pants were not thick, either. Gingerly he moved again, laying her down on the bedroll and tugging the rest of the blanket that was still at their feet away. Up on one elbow, he gazed down at her. 

He wanted to tell her how beautiful she was. How well womanhood suited her, strong and shrewd as she had always been. But something about that moment, the situation itself, cheapened the words before they left his mouth. So he elected to remain silent, let his eyes and hands worship her instead. She responded instantly to his touch; he caressed a nipple, stroked her stomach. The lower he wandered, the more her knees fell apart. But without orders he felt a little… lost. 

When she wrapped her hand around his and guided it down between her legs, though, that seemed clear enough. He palmed her through the leggings, found a hard nub that drew the softest mewl from her. Now he felt himself harden fully, his breath coming in deep and slow. He moved, slid his hand under the fabric to tug it gently all the way down her shapely legs and over her feet. Fully nude beneath him, her eyes met his. But he was speechless, enthralled, grateful to even look at her. Unwilling to stare for long, as though he did not deserve it.

More white markings on her hips, inner thighs. They all seemed to make her shape that much more lovely. Between her legs was the flower he was so compelled by; it wasn’t like a human’s. Her clit was more pronounced, almost erect itself. Little raised nubs ran in lines along either side, and they seemed sensitive to the touch, drawing shivers out of her. The lips of her splayed out, little points like a sunburst framing a slit between two swollen mounds. Gently he slid a finger along it, and she bucked her hips and moaned. 

“Rex, please,” she implored in a harsh whisper, and his hesitation broke. Her hand palmed his cock with careful urgency. Pulling at the waistband, he took the damn things off entirely. He wanted to lay against her, press their bodies together and feel the warmth of her skin. Between her legs, his cock strained and throbbed. He pressed it against her opening, watched her stomach rise and fall as her breathing got faster and deeper with anticipation. 

Reverently he pushed himself into her, patient and slow. Maker, if he was reckless enough to hurt her after all this, he’d never forgive himself. Not that she was virginal-- she certainly seemed familiar with the mechanics, after all-- but she was so small beneath him, it seemed. 

The way her mouth hung open when she took him to the hilt shot a pang of fresh desire through him, and he leaned down over her to capture her lips again before he began to thrust. The first few were slow, attentive to her response. Her legs came around him, hips bucked to meet him. So steadily he rutted faster, harder. Chased the release he craved even while he was drunk on the sensation of her skin against his. It made no sense to him that he was _not_ fucking his commanding officer, that neither of them outranked the other, so he didn’t think about it. He thought only about her moans and murmurs, about the tensing of her thighs around him. They were stronger than they looked, of course, just like the rest of her. 

He pressed their foreheads together, took her by the waist as he reached a fervent pace. He was wheezing now, growling, so close--

He felt her orgasm first, felt her innards clamp down around him like a vice. Finally she gasped, pulled his face close to hers and let out one long, shuddering cry as her body shook. Driving into her, the tension in his groin that had been winding tighter and tighter finally burst. 

“F-fuck!” he swore as he spilled, tugging himself out of her just in time. He’d nearly forgotten, like an asshole, and hadn’t asked. Cum shot out over her stomach as he groaned, stroking himself through the crescendo and subsequent collapse of his climax. He leaned on one hand, body still between her legs, and panted. Pressed his nose into the inside of her thigh above the knee. His dark eyes flitted over to her face, flushed a more ruddy shade than usual. She was looking at him, or possibly through him. Her face was distant without being cold, as though her orgasm had taken her into some other other place for a moment. He stroked her thigh as he came down, tender and quiet, before he looked at the mess he’d made. 

“Shit. Need a rag,” he murmured, and turned to look all around. Nearby was his pile of salvaged effects and rations; he leaned to rummage through it and found nothing. Sighing, he simply picked up his uniform shirt and settled to his knees to wipe her belly clean with broad, easy strokes. 

“Thank you,” she sighed as he finished. He looked at her, almost smiling. Discarded the shirt, retrieved the blanket. 

“Of course, sir,” he replied as he curled up and wrapped himself around her, and the blanket around them both. The cool air was nice now, but body heat would be welcome once their flush faded. “I mean, of course, Ahsoka.” She smiled at his correction and nestled her back into his chest, laid her hand on his arm. 

For a moment, he forgot everything but to hold her. But just as he was finally nearing sleep’s dark and silent gate, he felt the memory of why they were here, under this scrap of their own ship, wrapped in bedrolls and eating rations. Somehow, the bittersweet fruit of such total collapse was this moment where she was in his arms. His Commander, always, no matter how much he trained himself not to call her that anymore. Placing a soft kiss on her temple, he sighed.

Morning would show this to be a fever dream, or not. He didn’t know. They would likely leave the moon tomorrow after repairs to the Y-wing were done, though at that moment he couldn't have told you where they would go. He had a few ideas, and a feeling that her ideas would be different; their paths would diverge. That he would not be able to carry on pretending that he could protect her. But that night, at least, he could. 

In his dream she awoke when she thought he was still asleep, and slipped away to put her clothes on and start repairs. In his dream, she touched his face while a tear slid down her cheek. And then, she started the ship’s engine. Looked back at him before she flew away. In the dream, at least, he knew somehow that he would never see her again.

Only waking would tell. 

  
  
  



End file.
